Page 2 of Krampus Kruk
“Twenty-nine. The Botox is throwing you off.”
“Why are you doing that shit?” he asks, almost scolding.
“To fool random men at the bar into thinking I’m twenty-five.”
He leans in, resting his head on a fist. “Are you an asshole, or are you flirting with me?”
I bite my lip, letting the tension stretch. He smells really good—not like cologne or like he just showered. No, it’s just … man. I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe it’s pheromones.
“Both.”
“Good.” He raises his glass, and I tap mine to his.
I laugh softly. I’m flirting with a much older man—and it’s fun. Thirteen years was my previous record. He’s definitely older than forty-two.One night with Santa.I don’t hate the idea.
“Should you really be drinking ahead of your marathon gift-giving session?” I ask, leaning into the persona I’m building for him.
“I’m retired.”
“The kids are going to be pissed.”
“The spoiled shits will manage.”
We hold eye contact—this guy smiles, and the bar’s chatter fades into the background as I feel the heat of his gaze intensify. It’s magnetic and … thrilling.
“You’re trouble,” he says finally.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Yet.” The single word is heavy with intent.
I glance at my drink, weighing my options. A smart woman would finish this whiskey and leave. Tonight, though, smart feels overrated. The thought of going home … terrible. Santa’s lips part like he’s going to say something, but nothing comes out.
“What?” I ask, too curious.
“I’m deciding what I’m going to do with you.”
“Hopefully it’s not murder.”
“Tinsel,” he growls, staring at me deeply before eyeing my drink.
“Tinsel,” I mock.
“What do you want to happen here?”
“Nothing,” I sass.
“Liar.”
I wish my cheeks didn’t fucking betray me, but they’re flushing red.He’s right.“You think I want to sleep with an old man?”
“I think you don’t want to think anymore.” He eyes my empty drink. “Do you want another one?”
“I thought I wasn’t thinking anymore.”
He nods at the bartender, and she pours us another round. Whiskey for me, vodka for him.
“Hardcore,” I mock, seeing he’s drinking straight vodka.
